


Seven Years' Bad Luck

by wade_winst0n_wils0n



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Gen, M/M, but i love spideypool so its spideypool, its pretty gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wade_winst0n_wils0n/pseuds/wade_winst0n_wils0n
Summary: I wrote this a year ago and actually just found it by accident. I must have been on a prompt generator when I did it. I have no memory of writing this honestly.Peter, Wade, and talk of curses. Rated T for some mild language and talk of telephone poles in or around butts.





	Seven Years' Bad Luck

It started happening around a week ago. Actually, a little over a week ago. Ten days ago to be exact. Peter and Wade had been doing their team-up thing one Sunday in an extremely gaudy top floor apartment (seriously, who decorated that place holy shit). Now, it’s hard enough fighting bad guys in the street while trying to maintain damage control, but a cramped living room apartment? Near impossible. Which is how Peter managed to slam someone into the mirrored wall, creating a sizeable crack in it.

Somehow, Wade immediately noticed what he had done and called out, “That’s seven years’ bad luck, baby boy!”

Peter isn’t a terribly superstitious person (he probably should be, though; how often is it that a spider bite mutates your genes?), so he paid Wade no mind, simply rolling his eyes under his mask and helping finish these punks off to hand over to the police.

It’s when they’ve left the apartment and are sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city with the six bags of Taco Bell Wade insisted on getting that the subject is brought up again. Wade is talking about something Peter lost track of about five minutes ago, gesticulating wildly with his burrito and taking bites of it here and there when he looks at Peter and, very seriously, says, “So, what are you gonna do about that mirror shit?”

Peter raises a brow as he takes a drink from his rather flimsy cup (come on, Taco Bell has to make a fortune and he’s already had, like, five of these things break on him) deciding if this question deemed an actual response. He’s a bit curious about what Wade is going to say regarding it, so he gives in.

“What about ‘that mirror shit’? It’s broken. Are you telling me I need to replace it or-?”

Wade scoffs like Peter just said the dumbest thing in the world before putting his burrito down. Peter has come to realize that when he puts any food down, Wade is about to get into serious mode, and that anything he says could be extremely profound or on-par with a Dril tweet. It’s something he’s come to find a bit endearing.

“Peter. My sweet. My lovely little Spidey. Have you lived the past 54 years under a rock? Do you not know of the broken mirror curse?”

“I mean, yeah, I know about the fake mirror curse. Also, that’s a really specific age, how did you come up with that?”

“You just have to subtract 1962 from 2016, it’s not that hard baby boy. You’re supposed to be the genius here. And all curses are very real and very serious. Once I threw salt over the wrong shoulder (it’s the left if you were wondering) and let me tell ya. You do not want to know what happened till I fixed that shit. I know I say this whenever I get a quesarito at Chipotle, but my ass has never been the same since that fateful day.”  
Peter doesn’t even want to know what happened to said ass. He regards his half-eaten taco, an image that should be impossible coming to mind, yet, with Wade involved, could one hundred percent have happened to him, before deciding that he can wait a bit to eat. It’s better to deal with those instances of extreme gore on Wade’s end on a semi-empty stomach than one full of greasy faux-Mexican food. The greasy faux-Mexican food he was really looking forward to.

“I highly doubt that you throwing salt the wrong way had anything to do with any ass problems. You get in too much trouble as it is, there’s no way some fake superstitions had anything to do with it.”

“Be that as it may, this day was like no other you have ever seen. I mean, really, Petey, the way that telephone pole was angled-“

“THAT IS ENOUGH I AM NOT LISTENING TO THIS ANYMORE.”

“It is integral to your education on curses and what can happen to you. But you’re right. This isn’t the right place for that. I prefer a more private space before getting into that one.”

Peter lays down on the roof and rubs his hands over his face. He’s not sure how he got here, to this moment in time, and he’s not sure why but he really wishes he was anywhere else right now. Or dead. Preferably dead. He doesn’t want to think about Wade’s ass and a telephone pole near or around it and death seems like the only way to truly ensure he will never have to see that mental image again.

After a few seconds of trying to will away theimage, Peter looks back over at Wade, who’s already back to his burrito, and, reluctantly, asks, “What was the point of that question, again?”

Wade looks over, confused for a second, and searches his mind to try and remember just what the fuck he asked Peter originally. Peter sees he’s figured it out when he does a little nod to himself before taking a bite of the burrito.

“The mirror thing. Yeah. Sweetie, you’ve got seven years of bad luck ahead of you. I’m going to assume whoever’s cleaning up the place is throwing away the mirror, which is really shitty of them. That’s how you get the bad luck. So, I figured I’d help you ward it all off. Like your supernatural body guard.”

“Wade, I’m flattered that you want to help me out, but I promise you I’ll be fine. There’s no such thing as bad luck or curses. It’s all just made up, been a legend for years now. Nothing will happen to me.”

Wade goes quiet for a few minutes and Peter can tell he’s going over the situation in his mind. He’ll move his head in little nods or shakes, sometimes cock it a bit to the side, or murmur some things to himself that Peter can’t quite pick up on. Once he’s gone through it all, Wade takes a quick drink and turns back to Peter.

“Alright. I know you don’t believe it, but it’ll help me sleep at night knowing you’ll be safe just in case anything does happen. So, can I room with you for a bit, help keep the bad vibes away? It’ll be for my sake more than yours and you’ll get an added protection bonus. I know your spidey senses’ll protect you in case you get into any danger, but I wanna be there, y’know? Just in case. It’s up to you, of course. I’ll probably camp out on your roof if you say no, but-“

“Wade, it’s fine. You can stay with me for a week or two if it helps you sleep at night.”

“Really? Holy shit, I didn’t think you’d actually say yes. You mind webbing us over to my apartment? Gotta get the essentials. Golden Girls boxset, Cap dakimakura, some fresh socks.”

“Sure,” Peter shrugs. “Just don’t forget the food like you did last time I dropped you off. My fridge is bare till payday.”

Wade does a little two-finger salute and gathers up the multiple Taco Bell bags as Peter gets up and stretches out his back a bit before letting Wade climb on. Part of him is actually looking forward to the next two weeks.


End file.
